


The Wall

by Animator2197



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animator2197/pseuds/Animator2197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonDash21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonDash21/gifts).



Chapter 1: 

Walls. Walls everywhere. God, I hated Walls. 

They were ugly, and the only reason they were standing was because everyone was afraid of going beyond them. God, I hate that. Fear controls everything here. Teens are too afraid to be themselves or even discover themselves because it's dangerous to experiment with your body or personality. Teachers won't teach anything extra in classes for fear they may give students ideas. Parents are afraid to tell their children bedtime stories because for fear it may ignite their curiosity. 

Ugh. I hated those words: Fear, Afraid, Dangerous, Ideas. Screw that. Everyone was so worried about what was outside that they never even talked about it. Everyone wore this mask of ignorance-is-bliss and moved along in our tiny walled in world. 

Not me. No way. 

I lost my parents at a young age in a car crash, and after surviving it, all I've wanted is to be scared enough I could feel them again. Weird right? I never cared. I wanted to feel them again. Feel my mom brace me with her arm as the vehicle collided with that old tour bus, (...that really had no use because everyone lived here, in town, because of the walls.) and my father's eyes as they met mine one last time before he was impaled by that stop sign. (Gruesome, right? Yeah, try erasing that image from your mind.) I just wanted that one more time, just not with the whole stop sign and them dying thing. That's why I'm a Junky. Not a Drug junky, no. (It would be the end of the world if you could get your hands on that stuff ever again.) I was what use to be called an Adrenaline Junky. I liked going faster than the speed limit, and blowing things up. It was honestly, fun. And I liked running from the cops for literally no reason. I just liked to get a rouse out of people. 

That actually is what I just did. Oh yeah. I'm in holding right now. Sitting alone in my cell, with walls. Watching four cops flip through my books and dumping out my backpack all over the place, spreading my sandwich bag of glitter everywhere in the proces. (Oh, yeah, boys. Have fun getting that all cleaned up before next semester.) I loved watching them struggle to find absolutely nothing. Sure, it wasn't scary, but do you have any idea how painful and dangerous it is to get tased? 

Man I loved it. 

I’m not lying. I loved messing with the people who made and enforced the rules. I’m not saying I’m an anarchist, but I’m rather fond of breaking a few rules. I had boundaries. I’d never hurt anyone on purpose, much less kill anyone. I don’t even know how to use a gun. I’ve no idea what I’d do with one if I had one. Maybe, destroy a couple road signs, or bust a couple holes in their precious wall, but I’d never hurt anyone. 

“Alright, Kid. What did you do with the ‘cargo’.” The cop sneered.  
“Nothing.”  
“Come on, Kid, we don’t have all day. Just give us it and we will let you go...Maybe.”  
“I didn’t do anything with it. You just spread it clear across the room.” I grinned evilly as he looked down at the glitter colored floor. I had to admit, I didn’t think the floor could look much worse, with it’s dull cement covered in multicolored glitter. When he looked back up at me, I could tell he wanted to murder me, but his tomato-red face made me want to laugh.  
Enraged, the first cop fumbled with his keys and unlocked the door, yanking it open with a brisk and almost demeaning OUT, that followed. I giggled. Taking my bag, empty now from their search, I stuffed it with my things and left. You see? In my town, cops don’t even know how to deal with criminals properly. They didn’t even give me a ticket, they just kicked me out. I don’t think they even knew the old protocols for real cops.  
The second cop followed me out and told me I need to straighten out or I’d end up in more trouble than I bargained for, or hurt. I have to admit, I agreed with him, but that’s kind of why I’ve doing dumb stuff, as I’ve already explained. 

My walk home was short, not too horribly far. It took me maybe ten minutes to go from the so-called police station to get there. Well, I guess you wouldn’t really call it home. It was more of a glorified Orphanage, and that’s really all it was. The people who lived there were the children of the people who were too reckless and got killed in a freak accident. (Like my Dad and the stop sign.)  
I liked it, but maybe it was cause I was use to it. You know how you feel when your just use to that one really annoying person being there, like a younger sibling or some squirt who looks up to you, and then suddenly they’re gone? I think that’s how I feel about this place. I mean, it wasn’t horrible.  
It was a nice, clean building, with four stories of bedrooms and bathrooms, and one floor dedicated strictly for learning. Yep, you guessed it. If you lived here you got the equivalent of being homeschooled if you wanted an education. Then there was the painting of the rooms. Every year, the oldest kid in each room chose what color the room was gonna be, and everyone had their own opinion on what it should be, so no room was the same as the next. Our headmaster, Mrs. Worthermen, called it her ‘Easter Basket.”  
My room was black. I hated it. Don’t get me wrong, I like black, but our window view made me hate it. I shared the room with three other girls; Karen, age 10, her sister Annie, age 7, and this tall emo kid by the name of Rose. Rose was… unique… She had her own way of seeing things, like everyone, and it wasn’t horrible but she acted like a widow from the 1800’s, who had lost her husband in war but was happy about it. She wore a lot of black but she was always smiling. It weirded me out. She was also very controlling, and insisted everything in the room be black or very dark grey. I didn’t like that she felt the need to push her weird wants and needs on the younger kids, but who was I to stand up to an eighteen year old? I’m fifteen, and even in our Scared-of-everything-Outside society, we still had age ranks like the 2000’s did. (Trust me, you never should challenge anyone older than you to anything unless you KNOW you can beat them.)  
Anyway, that’s boring stuff. You’re probably wondering about the view, but there’s literally nothing to see. We don’t have any cool buildings of colorful stair gardens to look at. Our little building was on the edge of town, about 50 feet from the wall. Yep, that’s right. The horrible, hainess, bleak, and drab wall was my only view from the window. I wasn’t lying when I said our walled-in world was tiny. We only had a handful of buildings, and of course, ours was on the edge of the area of the town.  
To give you kind of a lay out of the town, which, doesn’t have a name, we’d have start from the orphanage and work our way in. Our orphanage is in middle of the wall, with a building on each side of it. The building to our left is actually a stair garden, which is like a terraced building with stairs of different vegetables and fruits. That’s part of where we got our food from.  
The building to our right is our second source of food. It’s called the meat house, and that’s what it is. Any edible animal that was rescued 100 years ago was brought there and breed together to continue providing food for us. It’s not like a feedlot or anything… it’s actually really clean because the people of my town fear illness, but I can’t blame them there. (Sickness would wipe us out in days, so I actually get not everyone wanting to die. I don’t want to die.) Anyway, what they do is they breed the animals they have like the chickens and the turkeys, and send out the young to be raised and cared for by the preschool and elementary. It’s a nice way for kids to learn about the food chain, I guess, but they never send the animals here, to the orphanage. Cattle are put in the village square, where they are kept clean so they aren’t an eye sore. (There’s normally only two or three cows in there, but that’s more than it takes to feed us.) Bulls are kept in the meat house though, in special pins cause they tend to have rough tendencies.  
The building perpendicular from that is the bank, which is the most boring place in the world. (And we’re moving on.)  
Next to the bank is actually our so-called police station, which probably was still covered in glitter. (We’ve been there, done that, so moving on again.)  
Next to that is the actual school. It teaches grades K-12 like anywhere else plus college. (Here at the orphanage, we don’t have college, which is good and bad. It’s good cause I don’t have to be in school as much as other kids, but it sucks too because I actually want an education above what the orphanage teaches…)  
Next to the school is the fire station, which, like the police station, isn’t really used much because everyone’s too scared to use fire. It’s still useful though because freak accidents happen from time to time.  
Beside that is the hospital, which, may I say, is probably one of the worst/best places to be in all of town. It’s pretty much always empty, except to older people, people with heart problems, me, etc.... (I actually hold record for Most Frequent Pacticent. Everyone knows me there. Heck, I practically work there.)  
Anyway, then there’s town hall. (BORING!!) All they do there is come up with more rules and debate on the Statues of the People or what not… That’s where the town leaders are and the commissioner and army stay. (When I say army, I mean a well trained militia. It’s too small to be an army, but those guys are tough.) I have a lot of respect the guys protecting us and training all that time in the Village square, but the politicians can eat mushrooms.  
The village square is the center of town, and that’s pretty much where everything happens. That’s where the “action” is on saturday nights and what not. (When I say “action,” I mean poetry. Bleh. Boring.) Don’t get me wrong, poetry is nice to read, but I’m not going to go and sit down with people to listen to it for four hours. Not my idea of fun.  
It’s hard to get lost here. Like seriously, if you get lost, you have an I.D.10.T. problem. (That, or your like, four years old…) If you were curious to where people live, it’s at their jobs. Every building has a residence floor where it’s workers live. (Talk about never leaving work.) 

I was laying on my back on my bed now, thinking of my next prank when Rose came in and interrupted my thoughts with her clicking heels as she crossed the floor. She must have just gotten back from the house library. It never had too much interesting in it. Just textbooks. There were two or three things I liked, but they weren’t entire books. (I just liked the stuff that explained gravity and what speed you need to reach to defy it, and stuff like that. You know, trouble causing stuff.)  
Rose was a book worm. She read whatever she could get her hands on, and she loved math. (Math never clicked with me. It was all too complicated. Sure, trouble causing formulas made some sense, but I normally messed them up and got hurt anyway, so, win-lose I guess.)  
I decided to acknowledge her, and I rolled over on my side, looking over her crazy black outfit. She wore a long dark hoop skirt, with a thick ruffle covered cover. Under that she wore a thick grey petticoat. Her top half was gently, but not tightly, held together with a hand made corset, and over that she wore a long sleeved velvet jacket. Her hair was pinned back with a deep purple hair clip and it was curled, making her look even more gothic than normal. She wore makeup, but it wasn’t the normal stereotyped make up gothics kids use to wear. She wore just enough makeup you could tell it was on, and that was all.  
In some ways, I was a little envious of Rose. She just seemed to be good at everything she did. We learned a lot together, but she always somehow bested me. (Not that I care anymore.) I remember learning how to sew old clothes kept in the Bank’s deep storage, and I was always stabbing myself with the needles or messing up the stitch so bad I had to completely restart. For Rose it was like second nature. She made all her own clothes. (Oh, yeah, you might have actually liked to hear about the Bank’s deep storage, huh? It’s just 20 different dimly lit rooms with different junk inside it. I’m not allowed in there anymore because last time I went in I made a cow’s milk purple for like 4 weeks. {Don’t ask.}) Rose had many skills. She was what a man in the 19th century might have considered “The Perfect Woman.” Sewing, knitting, and tough enough to live anywhere. That’s how I’d describe her in a good mood.  
Now, I don’t want any of you to think she isn’t my friend, or that I don’t like her. I like her… she’s just weird in a different way than I am, because if you look at it, I’m weird too compared to everyone else in town. She’s still cool - in her own… kinda-creepy way. 

“Zahra?” Rose calmly asked, making my die a little inside. Not in annoyance, just in unsurprised-surprise, you know what I mean? Like when you go in a haunted house, and you know someone is going to jump out at you, but they scare you anyway? That’s what I mean. She was so quiet sometimes I often forgot she could talk, but at the sametime there were days I forgot she could be quite. Once you got her going on about something, normally something she’s really passionate about, and she won’t shut up until she’s done. It’s good and bad, depending on the topic.  
Anyway, so I answered. (Oh yeah, my name’s Zahra, by the way. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier.) She wanted me to stand up so she could measure me. Only two equally terrifying thoughts came to mind. First, she wants to make me a dress, and second, she wants to build me a casket. (Because she’s also great and carpentry. {Don’t ask where she gets the tools ‘cause I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. I’d want to use them too.}) Anyway, I wasn’t gonna fight with her, but she seemed to sense my thoughts and told me to relax, she wasn’t gonna make me a dress, but actually a different surprise. Man, I hated surprises. 

I decided not to question too much about the surprise tried to go back to my thinking. Only problem was Rose was loud. Her clicking heels and thumping old sewing machine made it hard to even remember where I was.  
Walking to the window I looked out at the wall. God, I hated that thing. Suddenly, an idea to start up a conversation sparked in my head.  
“Hey, Rose.”  
“Hmm.”  
“Do you think there’s a way to get over the wall?”  
“Hmm?” She was continuing to sew.  
“The wall. Do you think anyone can jump it?”  
“No one has tried.” The sewing machine was still thumping.  
“Yeah, but, could someone?” I was beginning to get annoyed. It was like she didn’t hear the first half of my question.  
“Probably.” She finally said. “I don’t see why not.”  
“Then why don’t we, just… you know? Go.”  
“Why? What reason do you have to leave??” She stopped pedaling the machine, but she didn’t turn to face me. It annoyed me everyone always wanted to know why I wanted to leave. It was so boring here. Everything was always the same. Nothing ever changed.  
“Because, there’s no adventure here. There’s nothing here but school, work and fear. No one really does anything. We have poetry and that’s it. The only enjoyable part about this town is talking to the crazies who live in the hospital, because they claim they have been outside, and they’ve seen the monsters first hand, and that there’s possibly others out there.”  
“I thought you were band from talking to them.” She said turning around, grinning.  
“Yeah, so what.” I giggled. “They’ve band me everywhere. What do you thinks gonna stop me from going there?”  
“Uh, the Police?” Rose grinned. I knew she was being funny. She liked a good joke, and so did I. I guess that’s why we got along. That and we both stuck out in a crowd. Rose with her neatly pulled back, off-white hair, and me with my probably bloody nose and ripped clothes. We were opposites, but I guess that’s why we got along. I don’t think I could stand another me.  
Rose turned back to her sewing, and I could tell, she was more motivated than when she started. I could see the gears turning in her crazy head. She was up to something, but so was I.


	2. Chapter 2

I laid on my back, watching the sky fade from a light blue, to orange, to pink, to indigo. I was growing impatient as everyone bustled around the orphanage, getting ready for bed. I wanted to leave. No one was watching, but I had to stay for the  _ headcount _ Mrs. Wortherman insisted on doing. (Which was really just her subtly way of of making sure I was in bed. She doesn’t actually count anyone else. I know, I watch her.) 

 

I guess in a way, I’m a good example of being what our little town calls  _ Half-pacient. _ I can wait for hours to sneak out and break into the hospital and not break a sweat, but if you put me in a line to get vegetables from the Stair Garden, and I will literally lose it.

Rose says it’s probably a  _ mental disorder,  _ which I guess would make sense since I seem to have so many, but I don’t entirely agree with her. Everyone finds me weird, but Rose thinks my ability to shut down my anxiety before breaking out of the orphanage, but a mundane incident can send me reeling might be a “missed stitch” in my brain. 

Anyway, I waited there, in my bed, until all the nose in the house stopped, (Even the sound of breathing seemed to fade away.), and then quietly climbed out of my bed. 

Rose was still sewing, but she was hand-stitching now, so that it was quite enough for everyone else to sleep. (You could hear that old machine of hers from clear across the orphanage.) She had never told on me before, so I really didn’t count her presence as a danger. Besides, she had to be sneaky about that too. Mrs. Wortherman was strict about bedtime, mainly for the little kids, but we “serve as an example” to them, as she has told me several times.   

I pulled on my hooded jacket and changed into some more reasonable pants.  Sticking my head out the window to check for any passers-by, I took my boots and chucked them across street, and instinctively ducked behind my window seal, scared they might hit a trash can and make a lot of noise. No sound came.

Looking over the edge, I spotted my boots in the dry gutter just opposite on me.  I was lucky they weren’t soaked or made a lot of noise. (It’s hard to lie about that kind of thing. I mean honestly. Mrs. Wortherman isn’t gonna believe me if I say I accidently dropped my boots in the toilet.)  

I carefully leaned out the window again, just to double check for  _ police _ or anybody else, even though I knew curfew had passed a while ago. (You never knew who could be out on watch for that.) 

Climbing out the window, I carefully made my way down to the ground from my fifth floor bedroom. (Mrs. Wortherman thought she was smart when she stuck my sneaky butt up to the fifth floor, and at first she was, but I have been blessed with the determination and stealthiness of a ninja.) I was careful not to climb in front of any windows, especially the ones that were lit. I wasn’t clumsy. Never have been. (I am that only slightly crazy parkour-kid. It wasn’t my life, but I was the dork you saw climbing the walls of the city like Spider-man.)

Landing as softly as I could, I put on my boots and made my way down the street. My hoodie was obvious to everyone, so it was really no use to be wearing it, but it fit the moment. You know what I mean? 

I do a lot of stuff like that.  _ Fitting  _ random stuff to the  _ moment.  _ I’ve found I’m a rather good actor. I’m great at lying too. (Now, I know that’s not necessarily a good quality, but it comes in handy sometimes, like when you try to jump the wall and you have to convince Mrs. Wortherman that you were just in the bathroom.) 

 

Mrs. Wortherman was a women who you would probably see as like a nun from like a catholic church in Spain, only she didn’t have the swanky costume. She was old, and wrinkly, with this loving bright smile. She had soft brown eyes. She was old, but not so old she couldn’t take care of us. (She was actually really strong for her age, considering she had an  _ X _ on her arm.) 

 

You’re probably wondering what I mean by  _ the X _ . It’s nothing really bad. Lots of people in my  _ village _ have one. The  _ X _ simply meant you were medically different. You got them when you were born, but only when the doctors thought you might need more attention than others did. (Mostly just the crazies in the hospital have them… That no longer sounds great... ) Anyway - lots of people have them, even Rose. (Still doesn’t sound great…) 

The X mark came out before I was old enough to remember.  It was normal. I never had one, but lots of kids my age think I just got rid of it somehow. My thing is though, you really can’t get rid of it. It’s  a scar. It’s burned onto your wrist after you’ve been evaluated and all. That always sounded horribly painful to me, and I grimess at the thought of them burning a new born babies wrist, but I guess it doesn’t entirely matter when they are that young because they won’t remember the pain. Rose said it’s burned on to prevent the babies bleeding out like teens in the 2000’s did when they committed (Or at least attempted to…) suicide. 

(Suicide never made much sense to me, but that’s off topic.)

 

When I got to the hospital, I just kind of made a sharp turn around it. It was awkward, and obvious, but I really wasn’t trying to be sneaky anymore. Everyone was in bed anyway. 

Stepping around the edge of the build, in between the hospital and the town hall, I made my way quietly to the drain pipe at the end of the alley. The alley wasn’t really hard to get through quitely, but it still took work to get through it. It wasn’t clean like the rest of my town’s streets. 

The hospital alleyway was pretty much a storage area for unused gurneys and other large medical supplies. Everything was wrapped in it’s own tarp, or even some of it was seran-wrapped to keep it dry, but I never knew why they didn’t just put everything down stairs in the basements. (I mean, they have two of them.)

Stepping around the large hospital furniture, I reached the pipe along the side of the building. It was a tall building, but I wasn’t scared to scale it. (I’ve done it so many times before.) I don’t recall what drove me to climb it the first time… Call it stubbornness or determination, but honestly it was probably because someone told be not to. 

The building stretched up maybe five or six stories, and right next to my pipe there were these strange doors at every level, like they lead to some invisible hall. They were locked from the outside, like a backwards school door. (You know, those ones they had where if you were outside you couldn’t get in unless someone came and opened the door or buzzed you in? They were like that, except you had to be outside to open the door. That’s how I get in. Getting out is a lot easier.) I needed the fourth door up to get to the level with the crazies. (They had that whole level to themselves, and half of the level above them too.) 

 

When I pulled myself through the door, there was only one light on in the who place, not counting the openings in the hospital windows. Around that light, three shadows sat around in wheelchairs, one in an actual chair. (Everyone who wasn’t  _ crazy _ was already asleep, so I was guite to close the door and I tiptoed to the light. Everyone was happy to see me. They always were. 

“You’re late, Miss Manifest.” Corney said. Corney was a funny old man, and he was practically my second father in a way. He had black hair with two grey streaks of gray that ran symmetrically behind his hair. If his hair was brushed he would look like that Sean Connery character in that old  _ Highlander _ series, except he didn’t have a goti, and he had paler skin. 

“Very.” Sol had added. Sol was a one eyed man with a short-term memory, but never forgot a face. I don’t think he even remembered my first name. (He probably only remembered my last name when someone else, namely Corney, said my it.) Sol was younger than Sol, but still older than Merriam, the old woman next to me. (I was more than positive she was in her late sixties, early seventies because she had such a frail body, but still that unbreakable spirit that couldn’t place her over seventy-five at most.) Sol had no hair, because they (The nurses) shaved it all off of him because he’d attract lice. (He hated bathing more than I did, and I just hated it because I was always the last one to shower and the water was cold.) He was wrinkly and old. He didn’t carry age like Corney did, and he didn’t have any teeth anymore. What he lacked in physical hygiene though, he made up for with his beautiful blue eyes. They were massive, kind like those old japanese-comic-book characters. (Mangos, or whatever.) His eyes looked like they held the universe. They were flecked with greys and teals that just made them shine like pearls. 

Merriam couldn’t speak, at least as far as I knew. She was mute, but not totally. She would kinda of squawk when she would normally have laughed, but no words ever came from her. Corney told me once they she had the prettiest singing voice in her younger eyes. (I guess her mute-ness was developmental.) He said that’s why he married her, though there is no physical proof of their marriage. (No documents or anything, I mean. He really did love her, though. You could just tell in the way he looked at her.)  Anyway, Merriam has white hair and rosy cheeks like those little old ladies that you read about in fairytales. She couldn’t walk, so Corney pushed her around in a chair. (Sol could walk, he just like sitting in wheelchairs.) 

“How was your guys’ day?” I asked pulling up my own wheelchair. 

“Oh, you know, same-Ol’-Same. Medicine at Nine, bed by lunch.” Sol joked. Sol’s voice was groggy and aged, but it wasn’t like fine wine. It was pitched and rocky like a blender full of dirt clods. “Boring like always.” 

“It has been plain.” Corney added. “What interesting thing do you have to entertain us this time?” 

“I got arrested today and then I glitter-bombed the cops.” I said with great cheer. “They’re gonna be cleaning it up for weeks.” 

“Oh, and what were you arrested for?” Sol asked.

“Saying I had a bag of a little something special.” I paused, “And then running from them.” 

Everyone laughed. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. Sol, Corney, and Mariam don’t encourage my bad behavior, but sometimes they just need to laugh. I’d have laughed if I was old and considered crazy - locked in the hospital all day and only aloud to go outside while everyone else was at meetings so that they weren’t seen.  _ That  _ was more punishment than I had ever received, (at least in my eyes it was a punishment…) and they had never done anything wrong. They didn’t support my bad behavior, but they liked to hear about things I could do when no one was looking. (Heck, When someone  _ was  _ looking.) 

They liked stories, and I liked telling  _ true _ stories. I liked giving them more than the mundane that the nurses probably told them. (Plus they also told really cool stories.) I couldn’t tell if their stories were real or not, because well… they’re crazy, but the stories always seemed so real! Their stories were always set outside the wall, in the wild. That’s one reason I wanted to see the other side. 

I wanted to see all these adventures were true. I wanted to see their settings, and if there were really people outside. (And I was also looking for a reason to run from society, because - yeah.) 

 

Corney always told stories about him and Mariam's daughter, a girl by the name of Nora. He said she had white hair, just like Rose’s, and that she was a young spit-fire. He also told me about his wedding to Mariam. (Again, there were no documents to prove it was like, a legit marriage, but it is so beautiful to hear about.) (Yes, I’m freaking sappy.) 

He always said that there was no fighting on the day someone got married. Only dancing and music and flowers. Even your worst enemy wouldn’t dare pull a gun on you on a day of a wedding. They were sacred, in a way, and everyone was invited - even complete strangers - to join in the celebration. Weddings were a day of plenty, and everyone could eat, dance, and mingle. No weapons were used, and no threats were made.  They sounded way better than weddings here. (All they did was have you state your vows in front of a camera so that it could be archived, and then sign a piece of paper. No food. No dancing. No friends. Nothing. That was all there was to it.) 

Sol told stories of fighting and running from dangers, whether they were other people or animals. He always had action packed tales to scare small kids (Really  only me.) and was probably the reason for my crazy imagination. He was vivid - more vivid than Corney would prefer. (Typically only the bloody parts were where Corney cut in.) 

Sol was never married, and probably never will be. He didn’t like people. The only people he liked were Corney, Merriam, and me. He says he’s too much of a fighter to be intimately in love with anyone. He’s experienced too much war. I guess he’s a lot like that Logan guy from the old comic series. The guy with the claws in his knuckles who was immortal and always was frustrated because he never had anyone to love who actually lived long enough to get married. (That Logan guy gave up on love, I believe, but I don’t remember exactly... Like Sol.)

***

Okay, so I can’t climb out of the door I went into, as I’ve already explained, which means I have to go out the front door. This almost always serves to be a problem because the first and second floor are the most monitored floors. Those are the floors with all the medicines and new equipment. (Not to mention windows that open. I would use those windows, but they have alarms on them as I have learned by mistake.) 

Sneaking past the guard is the hardest part. I swear he has infrared vision sometimes. He can pick me out of anywhere. He’s also freaking fast, which doesn’t help. I can out run him, but only in distance. (Getting away from him in a short distance dash takes skills. I’m not even kidding.) 

 

I was extremely careful to not disturb anything as I crawled down the hall. If I even bumped a gurney or trash can, he knew about it. Even if it didn’t move! It could make a freaking like, minuscule sound, or move like half a millimeter, and he knew I was there! I had to crawl really slowly too. It my jeans slide to loudly on the tile - BOOM- caught. (He’s super-human, I swear.)

Anyway, after like five minutes of crawling from the stairs that lead up to the fifth floor,  I had finally made it to the front desk where the security guard was sitting. I was confused to how he missed me, but I guess he was focused on something else because he didn’t even look my way once. Either way, I guess it didn’t matter because I had made it to the safety of the desk. The door was only about fifteen feet from me and if I was careful, I knew I wouldn’t set if off until I was right under it. 

I sat there a minute, against the desk, before I decided to move again. The guard seemed to still be unaware of my presence. I crawled across the room to the opposite side of the desk as the stairs I had come down, and made my way to the shadows of the wheel chair corner. It was risky to crawl across the open floor like that, but what was the fun without risk, right? (Also I had no other choice - if I go any other way I risk setting the automatic door off and giving myself away.) 

Making it to the chairs, I was careful to crawl in their shadow (provided by a well placed street lamp…) very slowly until I had almost reached the door. There I could stand up, set of the door, and have a decent running start ahead of the guard who was still behind the desk. Well, at least that was the plan… That’s not what happened. Everything from that point went extremely down hill in a montague that went kind of like this; 

 

  1. My foot bumped a wheelchair. 
  2. I reached back to catch the chair before it moved, and the guard saw nothing. 
  3. In grabbing the chair I had rolled with my foot, I released another chair by accident with my arm (...however that happened, I have no clue).
  4. The chair that I released then rolled forward enough that it set off the doors sensor (...because they never freaking lock the front door.) 
  5. The guard saw the chair, flipped on his flashlight and saw me. 
  6. I scrambled to my feet and took off with him on my tail. 



 

So, pre-cap: Now we are here. I’m running like I stole something with a nutcase-superhuman guard chasing me around the streets of our nameless town at 24:00. (That’s like midnight, for you normal people out there.) So, yeah. 

I ran through the park, jumping benches and fences, throwing down trash cans and running around trees to try and slow him down because he is an idiot who follows directly behind me everywhere I go. After that didn’t slow him down, I took to running around buildings. I zig-zagged around the meat house, and then dodged my way around the “ _ police” _ station. I repeated this for many buildings until we had managed to circle back to the hospital. He was losing ground now, and I began to think I had a chance. I swerved past the town hall, and as I rounded the corner I realised I had lost him! 

Only problem was - I really hadn’t. I guess I can’t say he is a complete bonehead, because he actually had enough brain to realise that I was gonna pull the same trick on him that I had pulled on every other building, and I was gonna just run around it and take off because he was waiting behind the next corner for me, and as I was about to round it, he stuck his thick, hair mutant arm out and clotheslined me. 

(Note: For all of you viewers who do not know what that is, a clothesline is where a jerk-face guy sticks his arm out from behind a wall completely unannounced at the very last second when you are at a full sprint and knocks you on your back. If you would like to see it in action, watch the really old movie about these four fantastic super heroes where one gets turned into a giant rock-monster-thing and he clotheslines a a bad guy. It’s hilarious to watch, but I now have sympathy for that hentsch man.) 

The guard then proceeded to pick my up off of the floor and sling me over his shoulder. I had so much wind knocked out of me, I didn’t really fight, but I still flailed a little just to annoy him. He then called someone on his walky talky, and started to carry me towards the front door of town hall. There, we were met by his buddy I guess, and he carried my inside. 

So, yeah...


	3. Chapter 3

 

After my capture, I was brought in and sat down in the town hall waiting room, where we sat for hours on end. Just kidding, it was like twenty minutes, but it felt like hours to the guys escorting me because I pesterd them the whole time. Oh yeah - I shot them with rubber bands. I made a world of bottley noises. I even started singing as off key as I could. (They were Miserable.) 

After a while they were finally called in to the commissioner's office. (Yeah. The Commissioner's office. That’s how bad I am.) I’ll be honest, I was nervous at first. This was honestly my first time in the Commissioner’s office. I was alway brough to the jail and they just kept me there overnight or something. I never actually felt like maybe I had messed up (Like, I was actually “ _ in trouble _ ” I mean.) until I saw him - Commissioner Greytomb, sitting at his desk, glaring very seriously at me - but there was something that still gave me a bit of ease about everything… 

 

Commissioner Greytomb looked at me like I was a side dish he hadn't ordered - Or at least that’s  some really old famous author would have described the look he gave me. He was probably just _ tired _ of my shenanigans, but he wasn't actually mad. I could tell from his eyes. (He was acting.) It was a show for the adults in the room. (I liked that, but at the sametime I had a feeling stuff was about to get weird. You know, like how you become  _ distant-friends-with-a-strange-adult _ weird? That's a thing, right?) 

There were three other adults in the office with me and the Commissioner. One of the Guards had entered the room with me, and he stood off in the corner, watching from a distance. A moment after, Mrs. Wortherman had entered. She was dressed in her pink robe and a set of grey slippers. Her blue sleeping pants hung just over her ankles, and she had neglected to take the curlers out of her hair. (She slept in those on Saturdays so that her hair looked pretty for Sunday chapel.) She had on her large, round, wire-frame glasses and clutched in her hands my papers. 

A moment after her came in General Tumbson. He gave me a very different feel than the Commissioner. (I was actually more worried about him, and he was under Commissioner Greytomb.) He was dressed in a navy blue suit with gold buttons and that weird gold trim that ran along the collar, the cuffs of his sleeves, and down his front just to the left of the buttons. (He reminded me of a far older, very blue,  _ Prince Charming _ from that really old animated Cinderella film.) He had a sparse beard and neatly combed brown hair that matched his dark eyes. He had sharp features and a small build, but he was tall. (Maybe six foot… I guess that’s tall?) 

“She’s a menace, Commissioner. An absolute menace. All she does is cause trouble!” 

“Yes, so her pamphlet says, General.” Greytomb agreed - , but something was still off about him, and not actually in a bad way.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t control her.” Mrs. Wortherman was sobbing hysterically as if my screw up was gonna make her lose her job. (She was being far more dramatic than needed, even if I did break into a government run facility. It’s not like I stole anything this time.) 

“Yes, I see that too. Maybe it’s time we take a step farther with punishment. How about a week or two in the police station? Nothing to do, and she’ll be all locked up so no one can get hurt. Maybe this will straighten her out.” The commissioner spoke as if I was not there, which kind of annoyed me, but that added with what else he said was really starting to light my fuse. It went something along the lines of: “She’s clearly lazy, since no work is getting done…” and “... she clearly has no care at all for her own needs, like her education, and where she will be working soon.” But then he’d look over at me, half glaring, half apologizing. (It was so weird.)Anyway, he kept up this act saying I was a “...lousy over-curious child without even care for who I hurt in my attempts to hurt myself.” (HA. HA. No.) I could tell he was acting, but still - I was about to come unglued on him. (I actually care about other people’s safety… It’s mine I care less about - I would never hurt another person {On Purpose}.)

After about twenty minutes more of " _ Humiliating me _ " in front of witnesses, he dismissed us, and then barked for me to stay. (You know how people are like; "Class dismissed" and then they're like "Not you... I'm not done with you." Like that? He did that. I nearly died laughing, but I held it together and acted like I was still scared of him, even though I saw right through him.) 

 

A silent moment passed and he suddenly grinned, mischievous, tearing up trying to hold back his laughter. 

"I think I actually scared them with that one." He chuckled. "I think I got you too." 

"Only at first." I said, trying to still be respectful. "You have a tell about you. You gave it away." 

"Oh, really?" He seemed honestly integrated. 

“Yeah. You have this voice change - like, your pattern in how you speak changes when you speak. It’s not like when you speak on the radio… You know what I mean?”

“You pay that much attention to my voice on the radio?”

“No. That was me yanking your chain. You turn your head around quickly when you go to talk to people.”

“And how do you know that’s  a sign of liar.”

“I read it in a book a friend of mine  _ made _ me read.” I grinned. (There was Rose Wrenhouse, saving me again.) “She always has me reading educational stuff like that because unlike me, she cares for ‘ _ my education _ .’” 

“Yeah, I apologise for that. I was morley just trying to convince Mrs. Wortherman and General Tumbson that I was on their side with all of this.” He gestured to my papers. They had everything I have ever done (... at least that the authorities know about…) recorded right in writing.

“So you admit that you do not agree with them?” 

“Well, yes. I don’t agree with them  _ entirely. _ ” He said, emphasizing the  _ entirely _ part. (I guess I can agree with him… I mean, I’m not exactly a good role model or anything.) “You have some tendencies I don’t favor, like breaking into the hospital in the middle of the night, but I’ll be honest, other things I find quite amusing like your glitter bag in the police station today, or that time you got banned from the meat house for the third time.” 

“Ah, yes. Good times.” I smiled. He smiled back a real smile that I could see, even under his bushy mustache. 

Commissioner Greytomb had a large white mustache, that was perfectly combed and blended into his perfectly combed beard. He had bushy white eyebrows to match and full head of white hair, that like Corney, had clearly faded from a deep black color over the years. He also wore a navy blue suit that resembled General Tumbson’s, except the fact the the commissioner's was fancier and had more decorations. His wide shoulders and hude build helped to show off his large number of badges and fancy wide-set buttons. (Although part of his badges were covered by his long white beard that reached just past his collarbone.) 

“So, why do you go to the hospital?” He asked, suddenly sobering up from our joking. 

“I have friends in there. Older people, like yourself, except for they are insane - at least to  everyone except me.” I answered. “ _ They  _ won’t let me in to see them during the day, so I have to visit them at night when only the one guard is awake.” I was kind of sad when I answered, honestly. 

“And why won’t they let you in during the visiting hours?”

“Because they think that the crazies on floor five are bad influences on me.” 

“Are they?” 

“Not unless you consider telling stories about their lives outside of the wall is bad.” I was annoyed now - Not at the commissioner, but at everyone else. They had always told me I hung out with the  _ wrong _ people, but who else was I supposed to hang out with? If I didn’t have Corney, Merriam, and Sol, I would only have Rose, and not that that would be bad - It wouldn’t - She is really cool after you get to know her, and she really is probably my best friend, but the crazies aren’t Rose, and Rose isn’t the crazies. It just wouldn’t be the same without  _ all _ of them. I mean, they are all like family to me. Telling me they are the  _ wrong _ people to be around is like telling me my family is, well wrong! I don’t have anybody else. Just those four… To tell me I can’t see three of them is inhumane in my eyes. I would never make it.

Across the desk from me, Greytomb seemed to have fallen into a deep thought. It was obvious he was thinking because his eyebrows were all furrowed and he was was resting his elbows on the desk with his hands clenched in front of his mouth. He just watched me for a moment like that, and then he suddenly stood up from his chair and made his way to tell tall, greenish-grey file cabinet. He opened up a drawer and thumbed through it for a minute, stopping every now and then to read the little tabs. 

I tried not to just stare at him as he did it, but there was nothing else to stare at in the room. There were some photos of the past commissioners, and the office itself was quite elegant, but it wasn’t much to look at.  It was a round office, and really wasn’t that big, but it was boring. 

After a couple of minutes, Commissioner Greytomb returned to his seat. From the file cabinet he had brought a very formal looking piece of paper that was mostly blank except for the top two inches that had the commissioner's crest on it, some fancy-font words that just stated that it was an official piece of paper, and a date line. The bottom of the page there was a three inch black line that had “ _ Signed, Commissioner Arthur B. Greytomb” _ written under it. The whole middle of the page was just blank. I assume it was for typing on, or it was just fancy printing paper, but he just took a pen and began to write on it. After he finished it, he signed it and handed it to me. 

“It took you all that time to find a blank piece of almost-blank paper?” I asked, my brain forgetting to be the polite child it was supposed to be. I quickly realised my mistake and tried to apologize, but Greytomb just started to laugh. 

It was a quiet laugh, but I could tell that if I had told a joke he would have one of those deep raspy laughs. (Like the ones you would imagine Santa Claus having. Big, fat, Jelly-roll laughs.) He was like that really old grandpa guy you would imagine in a Roald Dahl book (Another thing that I blame of Rose. She made me read a lot of books I wasn’t truly interested in, by big-famous Authors from history. I liked smaller writers like Christopher Paolini, though in all honesty, I loved a good Tolkien Novel too. Anyway - Off topic). He was sweet for an old guy - he wasn’t stuck up or snoody when he talked to me. He was just - honest.

After he stopped laughing, he told me he found my humor amusing. I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that, but I assumed it was a compliment. 

“Read.” He said, gesturing to the paper. I kind of rolled my eyes, not meaning anything rude, but it was an instinctive reaction to being told to read. The paper read out something like this; 

 

 

Under commision of the Town of No Name;

By decree of the current and present Commissioner of the Town of No Name, this official document is of the utmost importance and can only be deterred by the commissioner themselves, or someone of a higher rank than commissioner. Any photo copying of this document is a federal offense.

I, Commissioner Arthur B. Greytomb, hereby state that Zahra Manifest of the town of No Name is under permission of entering the hospital of No Name at any given time without stated purpose on any day of the week. The only rules that apply to Miss. Manifest are the laws of the Town of No Name, and that she may not steal from the hospital or it’s faculty. Any staff member or resident seen attempting to remove Miss. Manifest will answer solely to me.   

~ Arthur B. Greytomb

Printed Name Signed On Line: Arthur B. Greytomb

 

 

I was honestly not entirely surprised - I knew after I said anything about Corney and the others, Soft-hearted Commissioner Arthur B. Greytomb was gonna write some slip to let me in. I wasn’t trying to be manipulative - at least not this time - but I could tell what he was thinking when he pulled out the piece of paper from the cabinet. He had these transparent emotions - like, his face said everything about him with just one emotion. It was very obvious about what he was thinking all the time. 

After a moment of happy, but awkward silence, Commissioner Greytomb finally decided it was time for me to go, and we made our way out of the town hall and towards the  _ police _ station. It was a little awkwarder that I would have liked, because Arthur actually walked me over to the jail house instead of just sending me with a guard like most people would have. It was kind of a nice awkward though - like after you get in trouble with a parent and then they just kind of… get over it and everything is cool again between you guys, but you don’t really know what to say?? (I don’t think that’s a real thing, but that’s how it felt to me.) When we got to the jail house, he told me good night, and then waited a moment before leaving, like a dad-figure would when dropping you off at a friends building or something like that. 

I didn’t even need the police to go where I belonged. I literally had a cell assigned to me, so it didn’t matter if they were awake or not - I could handle the station as if I worked here. The funny thing about this particular night was that it was so late, the police were asleep already. It was like arresting myself. I even did their paperwork on why I was there, and how long I was supposed to be there. I had watched them do it so often I just - well, did it. Then when they came down the next morning, they seemed quite stunned that I was there - unannounced - first thing in the morning. It was rather amusing, but I didn’t blame them for being a little suspicious - last time I just  _ appeared _ in the jail house the guards on duty slipped down the stairs because they were covered in dish soup and they landed in a massive tub of glue… Then I might have dumped some feathers on them… So, yeah… 


End file.
